The Remainder
by Sincerely Marigold
Summary: After a close friend is gravely injured at the park, a young anthropologist breaks all ties with her work to put John Hammond out of business. What she doesn't expect is to develop a deeply human, maternal bond with a dinosaur infant, for someone from her past to show up and the debilitating injury that follows. MalcolmOC anti-romance, psychological thriller. Rated thusly.
1. Uno

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing because this is fanfiction. I draw from films as well as the books and take many liberties because this is fanfiction. My protagonist is in many (but not all) respects a prototype of Carrie Brownstein and I can get away with it because this is fanfiction. Please read and review; let me know what you love and hate, what inspires you and what disgusts you, what you want to see more of and what you want to see less of. Let me know what you are thinking and I will be grateful to do anything in my power to delight, entertain, and evoke emotion because this is nothing short of a massive labor of love- fanfiction. Dig in.

 _What do you do with a remainder?_

 _You round it up or round it down_

 _And if you're scared by what you're left with_

 _Destroy the answer that you've found_

\- Sleater-Kinney

The storm had only just arrived when Carrie stepped out onto the back patio. Within a matter of minutes, nearly every characteristic of the landscape before her was drowned out by a thick sheet of jungle rain. From under the veranda, she still could see a watercolor-like peppering of coral polo shirts and red baseball hats bobbing against the green horizon.

The park would soon be ready to receive and this sparked a contrasting behavior that fascinated Carrie. Everyone was either scrambling to complete their work or moving around in the same sort of rebellious promenade as a collegiate crowd on the last day of finals week. Tensions were high and the whispers of an impending lawsuit might have been the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's" back had they not been nipped in the bud by upper-management.

As Carrie's eyes moved to the far side of the repurposed velociraptor paddock, two heavyset utility workers caught her attention. They were positioned on either side of a colossal terracotta vessel that was as deep as it was high. The leafy arms of a flourishing plant spilled over the sides, some tresses were even long enough to brush the concrete as they moved.

The workers bickered momentarily, shifting the position of the plant. At this point, Carrie was not only intrigued by the exchange, but nearly sickened once their intention became clear. She inhaled a single, sweet stream of nicotine, diminished the amber glow at the tip of her newborn cigarette by scraping it against a rock and stormed across the courtyard, against the wind.

Upon arriving on Isla Nublar, Carrie had known the paddock as a carport where the faculty stored primarily Jeeps, save for the occasional recreational vehicle or tractor. It was not until her second month there that she unveiled by means of unfailing curiosity, the area's disturbing truth and what those two workers were, at long last, looking to conceal.

When she reached the paddock, she noticed that identical plants had been spaced widely across the perimeter. From a strictly aesthetic perspective, it made sense but the flaw became clear as she examined the ground upon which this particular plant had been placed. It was exactly as she had feared.

From below, an outline, small and unrecognizable to the unsuspecting eye, of a dark crimson shadow that was once a massive stain reached its tiny fingers out from underneath the pot as if to give the impression that a bloody ghost had been crushed by its weight.

On one hand, it was gruesome enough to demand some kind of coverage. But in Carrie's case, it struck a nerve. A small cluster of workers sprinted by, seeking a dry place. She ignored them, pushing her hand out from inside of the sleeve of her oversized flannel shirt and removing the damp chunks of hair from her brow.

In the crook of her arm, a large folder rested. She remained mindful to keep it tucked safely inside her shirt as she reached out, knocking the rain off of the leaves.

They were soft and plump and reminded Carrie of the leaves of the African violent plants that her mother collected throughout her childhood. She recalled how she would press the tips of her fingernails into the leaves, spilling the juicy membrane from within when her parents weren't looking and was riddled with guilt for months after getting caught. Although curiosity so often led to despair, Carrie never heisted to surrender to it.

As the leaves moved from underneath her hand, Carrie uncovered a cluster of small orange-colored blossoms that had bloomed sporadically along the stem. The petals on the blossoms were half the thickness of the leaves but possessed the same plush-like surface. As Carrie's fingertips grazed the petals, however, they proved to be rough to the touch, as though they were made of thin sandpaper.

The low rumble of an engine and the crackle of wheels moving over the gravel pulled Carrie back into reality. Her eyes dropped to the stain and then, as though circumstances had made her so entitled, she plucked a blossom from the plant and slipped it into the pages of the notebook. As she closed it, the name on the cover stood out in her periphery.

 _Dr. Amancay Zamora_

Juxtaposed in one glance. The bloodstain and the name. The peculiar, quasi-ceremonial moment consumed Carrie. She remained silent until the car door slammed and oncoming voices filled her ears.

"And here we have Dr. Beckler. A native Northwesterner, she hardly needed to acclimate." A tenor though albeit monotone voice droned. Carrie recognized it immediately as Dr. Harding.

Giving up on the pieces that had fallen into her eyes, Carrie brushed her dark bangs haphazardly into her navy bandana and shot a half-smile in his direction. He'd taken her under his wing from day one. Or rather, that was what Carrie wanted him to believe. Beneath a surface of friendly exchanges and like-mindedness, she'd remained suspicious of even him- her only companion on the island.

To his right, an exhausted, yet enthusiastic woman with golden hair sauntered. She and Carrie exchanged smiles. Only briefly. As they moved closer, her attention shifted to the plant.

"Florissantia?" She asked breathlessly. To this, Dr. Harding nodded.

"A healthy one, too." She moved closer and let out a small laugh in Carrie's direction. "And it's a native Northwesterner just like you! What are the odds?"

Carrie exhaled a quick, choppy breath that scarcely passed as a chuckle.

"I'm sorry. Dr. Beckler, was it? I'm Dr. Ellie Sattler. Paleobotanist. So I'm only a tiny bit out of my element."

At last, the fog in her mind cleared enough to allow Carrie to smile at this friendly, mild-mannered stranger. As she extended her hand in Ellie's direction, Carrie's eyes, dark as the sea on a stormy night, glistened slightly as they shook hands. "Call me Carrie. Anthropologist, gone rogue. Nobody is more out of their element than I am."

"Not Dr. CJ Beckler, the anthropologist?" Ellie asked, overcome by an entirely new level of joy. "You wrote the essays on the BriBri? And now you're-!"

"It's one of those stories that nobody wants to hear." Carrie replied, humbled. "But thank you. I was actually hoping to hear more about this plant. The leaves almost seem to be protecting the blossoms. But are they really? They are both equally abrasive to the touch."

"Abrasive, yes. But their stems on the Florissantia flowers are very fragile. Some theories suggest that the grain was only exclusive to the leaves. Still," she reached out, rubbing her finger against a petal, "there are so many theories that can be laid to rest just by examining the living specimen."

Carrie nodded, the corners of her mouth began to twitch as she concealed her own enthusiasm. A natural response for her. Although she was, for the most part, an agreeable person, it was very rarely that she felt an immediate kinship with anyone. Ellie was one of her own. Cerebral and energetic. More interested in discovery than small talk. She listened intently along with Dr. Harding as she explained the original climate of the Pacific Northwest. "Fossils were found throughout western Oregon and Washington throughout the early 1900's." She carried on in a joyful tangent. "A slightly different species lived throughout the plains. Where are you from again, Dr. Beckler?"

"East of Seattle, just outside of North Bend. But I've lived somewhere between Costa Rica and Austin, Texas for the last decade or so." Carrie replied.

"Ah, UT. Now I remember. One of the gentlemen that I am visiting the park with also studied there around the same time, I assume. Perhaps you know him." Ellie said mindlessly, sifting her hand through the soil and breaking it apart in her palm.

Carrie shrugged. "What is his field?"

"Either chaos theory or motorcycle jackets. He's an all style, no substance sort. Occasionally brilliant but severely self-absorbed."

As Ellie spoke, Carrie's nerves piled themselves into a tight ball of discomfort. This was one bit of history that did not need revisiting. It was the last thing she needed and so, she didn't even ask for his name. "Possible." She shrugged. "Most of my time was spent abroad."

Carrie glanced down at the notebook and saw a hand-shaped smear of sweat staring up at her. She decided to change the subject. "I work with an iguanodon juvenile," she started, trying to navigate her train of thought into a meaningful statement, "so I understand what you meant earlier about laying theories to rest. For example, did you know that iguanodon societies are matriarchal? Rendering them one of the first matriarchal societies in recorded history."

"I can't wait to read your research." Ellie was still more interested in the plant and it showed, but she remained friendly.

"I was just about to drive over to the paddock before you and Dr. Harding showed up. Would you care to accompany me?"

Ellie rose. "I should probably catch up with my colleagues. They will be returning from their tour of the facility soon."

"Please enjoy your stay here." Carrie said, stepping backwards "There is much to see."

"I'll do that."

As Carrie drove, she fought to situate her thoughts on the interstitial plane between the proverbial ghost of Dr. Zamora and Dr. Malcolm; knowing that if the line was crossed, the past would begin to unearth itself on either side. So instead, she thought about the iguanodon.

This was a comfortable place for her thoughts to linger. A pleasant place, at that. Still, that comfort was grounded on shifting sands. The iguanodon was a troubling subject for John Hammond. The survival rate for the breed was staggeringly low. There were only two cases in which they had reached adulthood and yet, they did not survive the flight to Isla Nublar.

It was not until Dr. Zamora, a promising young biologist, suggested that the hatchlings receive a new kind of care, that one showed promise of survival. By the age of two months, she was the size of a large housecat, on a stable diet, high functioning and limber. When Carrie came to work with her, just a month later, the juvenile had nearly doubled in size and had escaped from her paddock twice by climbing a tree and launching herself over the electric fence.

Her behavior was excused under the circumstances. Dr. Harding himself suggested that it was more grievance for the loss of her mistress than rebellion. But Carrie, quite like Dr. Zamora in build and temperament, proved to be a passable replacement.

Dr. Zamora named her Uno. A name that Carrie found to be passive and predictable. But after long hours of working from Dr. Zamora's notes, the little iguanodon became Uno in Carrie's mind as well.

Overhead, a thunderclap sounded. Several responsive groans could be heard in the jungle behind the fence.

There was an unshakable chill that everyone felt upon passing each of the carnivore's paddocks. She expected the grouping of slender-bodied dilophosaurs that would typically race alongside the fence in a playful race against the Jeep. The paddocks ahead, on the other hand, were silent as a haunted grave. Movement rarely came from behind the leafy backdrop, but you could feel the gaze of eyes upon you.

Today, you could not and it was all the more terrifying.

When Carrie reached the open fields where the herbivores roamed free, a similar tension could be sensed. Pods of ten or more stegosaurs were clustered around their young. They positioned themselves as far away from the jungle as possible. This behavior was new. Innately territorial. And it made Carrie want to turn back.

With one hand steadfast on the wheel, she reached under the seat and removed a locked box that contained several flares, ammunition and a small handgun that Carrie had never fired. She decided to keep moving toward the base of the mountain where Uno's living space was.


	2. The Swift Thief

Carrie watched the amber liquid dilute into a paler shade as it was transferred from the syringe to the line that ran into Dr. Zamora's arm. When the technician finished her work, she placed her hand on her shoulder. Carrie made no acknowledgement of the contact.

"Dr. Beckler, I spoke with the staff. They were able to find you a room for the night. It's down the hall. But still close."

She went to respond, but the only thing to fill her mouth was the stale, empty taste derived from neither speaking nor eating for a very long time. After a moment of consuming silence, Carrie decided on a simple nod.

"Her wound needs a new dressing." Said the technician. "You can stay, but it might disturb you."

"When I first met her," Carrie started, trying her best to busy her mind as the bandages on Dr. Zamora's neck were pulled back, "she spoke very little English. She was a legend in her village. One of the first women to go to school, earn a scholarship and make a name for herself. She was brilliant, insightful, creative… but that wasn't what made her a success. You see, she came back. She used her power to help her community. That's the kind of person that Amma is." She paused, smiling at the thought. But the emotion was short-lived as Carrie examined the wound. "I thought you said this was a reptile bite."

"I'm going to need to page the doctor." Was the technician's less-than-informative reply.

"So, it's not supposed to look like that?" Carrie shot back.

"It's supposed to be healing. And it hasn't." She stopped. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

"No, I think you should! I think you should tell me everything! If something is wrong, I have the right to know!" She stood and grabbed the technician's arm as she reached for the phone. "It's not a bite, is it? It's a chemical burn. She was exposed to some kind of toxin. Experimentally! And now it is refusing to heal. I knew it was some kind of clinical trial."

A team of technicians who were listening down the hall flooded in to restrain her.

...

The rain began to pound the earth with more aggression than before. Carrie knew that she had to get back but fought the urge to flee.

The Jeep bounced over the terrain, carrying her to smoother ground once it neared the coverage of the trees. If the carnivores had escaped, they would move from the rainforest to the plains in search of unsuspecting prey.

The stakes were high wherever she was, but Carrie had to think like Uno. And the forest was filled with hiding places. Not to mention, the white noise of insects and frogs would cover the rumble of her engine. She drove into the trees.

Silence prevailed; stretching from the mouth of the forest and filling in the darkest spaces. The rain itself seemed to step lightly, latching to the leafy canopy overhead and slipping with caution to the puddles on the forest's floor, void of all reflections. The noise that Carrie had expected was scarcely present. She drove on, seeking out the path of least resistance.

Something moved in the trees. To ensure her safety, Carrie kept the engine running and readied the hand gun in her lap. She opened the binder and began clipping and unclipping its rings. It was a small sound that she made before and after each session with Uno to lure her out of the hiding spaces within her controlled habitat. There was no response.

She hadn't moved more than a hundred feet when what she'd been looking for came into view. The white, splotchy back of an iguanodon could be seen bobbing around in the clearing. She repeated the same noise with the binder's rings and this seemed to catch her attention. Within moments, Uno placed her weight on all fours and began moving toward the familiar sound.

There was no telling how she would lure Uno out of the forest. Initially, she decided on putting the Jeep in reverse and continuing with the noise. This worked for a few minutes. When Uno finally rose on her hind legs and her eyes, wide and glistening like two black marbles met with Carrie's, however, she romped playfully deeper into the leaves until she'd lost sight of her completely.

She had no other choice but to follow. Whatever happened next would be her responsibility and Carrie was determined to see that no harm would come to little Uno. Before she could start moving forward, a wave of hot, putrid breath moved across her neck. She couldn't see what it was that had made its way into the back seat. Regardless, she knew. The fangs were only inches from her skin and Amma's fate was about to become her own.

Hoping to ensure the safety of Uno, she blared the horn for as long as she possibly could before panic took over. Uno was very responsive to playful intervals of sound. Long, drawn out noises were not something that she'd worked with yet. So Carrie could only hope that it would read as a warning.

Had the noise not come as a shock to her pursuer as well, she wouldn't have been able to escape. Be that as it may, the tactic worked and she was able to launch herself onto a low hanging branch and proceed up the height of the tree. Once she reached a safe height, Carrie was able to make out Uno's location. She'd barricaded herself in a passably safe location beneath the roots of a large tree.

The raptor paced on the ground below. She sent out a loud bark to her counterparts who were lurking throughout the misty jungle. To maintain interest in this location, Carrie rustled the leaves, spilling small branches and leaves upon the approaching raptors. The idea of martyring herself and countering all common sense was terrifying. Not to put a scar on her courageousness, but the idea of making a run for the Jeep should the raptors turn their attention towards Uno remained in the back of her mind as a last resort. But she would do everything in her power to keep this from happening.

Overcome with adrenaline, she didn't realize until this moment in time that the gun had found its way into her pocket. She reached, the metal was cold in her fingers, but before she could debate opening fire, it slipped from her hand and landed on the flat bed of a large branch twenty-some feet from the ground. If she could descend several limbs, she could surely reclaim it. But could they jump that high? In such a panic, she could hardly remember Muldoon's conversations with Dr. Harding. They were jumpers, this she knew. But was it anatomically possible for their limbs to launch those lanky, awkward bodies to where the gun, her one advantage, rested?

She thought of Uno. Reclaiming the gun could save her life and continue her diversion long enough for the small iguanodon to escape. Without a moment's haste, she moved towards it. She could feel their eyes on her, watching and hoping for the smallest mistake that would rob her of her balance. After descending the first two feet, the raptors began jumping. One after the other. They jumped, at most, ten feet into the air, wrapping themselves around the branches and shaking the base of the tree with all their might. Carrie could hear the gun slide off and clatter on the dashboard.

She moved upwards, fighting to maintain her footing. Then, it happened. Her grip failed and she began to fall. Desperately, she reached out for something to hold on to, but the tips of the branches were brittle and they broke apart in her hands. There had to be some way to fall past them. Past them and into the safety of the driver's seat. After looking down, she set her sights on a far more realistic goal.

She had only just grabbed hold of the branch when it happened- an entirely new way to experience pain. The relentless, keen pain of a hundred tiny saw-like teeth embedding themselves into the bone of her left shin. Her nerves were the first to respond. All at once, her body was overcome with shock, confusion and perhaps the strongest still was offence, anger. Anger propelled her to fight back.

"They will never hurt me," she thought, "they will never hurt us."

As the raptor let go, she let go, in turn, of her branch. Gravity took over, allowing her to slip past them and plummet towards the ground.

"They will never hurt me," she reiterated, "they will never hurt us." This thought continued to encourage her as she fell, gracelessly into the jeeps cabin.

Upon impact, her leg, which was already weakened from the depth of raptor's bite, snapped. Surely, she would lose it. Blood poured out onto the seat. What Carrie did not know that the blood lost contained just enough of the velociraptor's venomous saliva to spare her for the time being. The rest had already been released into her bloodstream.

The gun was within reach, but she decided that she could take position and ignite the engine quicker than attempt to fire it for the very first time. The three raptors dropped from above, landing all around her. She knew that they could and would run. She pressed her right foot onto the gas with all of her might, slamming into the body of one of the raptors and thus, disorienting the other two just long enough to distance herself several feet down the road and fire a round in their direction.

It was difficult to tell if any of them were hit, but it certainly did disorient them further. She drove towards where she'd last seen Uno, the Jeep budging only once or twice against the undergrowth. She tapped the horn a couple of times and fought against the pain in her leg just long enough to lean across the bench seats when Uno came into view, and entrap her in a large rucksack.

Once Uno was safe in the foot well, Carrie sought out the most favorable route to the dirt road. She could hear the raptors chattering behind them, bickering over whether or not to pursue them further. The rear view mirror provided her with an image of the raptors dispersing into different sections of the jungle. The chase was on and she knew that she would be seeing them again before long.


	3. Shock

The pace of the blades quickened, shaking everything on the inside and outside of the small medical chopper's belly. Although he'd been administered enough morphine and sedatives to keep him under for the duration of the flight, every tiny motion that the helicopter generated sent a searing pain through Ian Malcolm's leg. To his right, a young female physician pierced the transparent line in Ian's arm with a syringe and he felt a painful chill take over his body as the medicine journeyed through his vein and into his bloodstream.

"That was the last of our supply, Dr. Malcolm." She trilled as if to soften the frustration that this news would generate, "The crossing may be painful, but by the time we land-"

Before she could finish her thought, the door was thrown open. In the entryway, a dark silhouette of a man with a limp body draped over his open arms materialized.

"You are going to let me on board!" He scarcely waited for an objection and climbed in.

The woman sprung from her work. "This chopper is no longer equipped for new patients, Dr. Harding. I hardly have enough supplies for the first."

"Katie, all that I need is oxygen, adrenaline and the means for amputation. None of which appear to be in use. You deny us access, this woman dies."

Katie nodded, making to temporarily abandon Malcom's injury for a stack of files on the floor. "I'll have to make a record. Patient's name?"

"Beckler." Said Dr. Harding. "Dr. Carrie Beckler"

At this time, Malcolm was certain that he had misheard. Even if he hadn't, there was no way in the world that it could be who he thought she was. He turned around slightly, straining to see, but the plethora of foreign medicines were fast at work on his system. The space around him became blurred as he aimlessly searched for proof that this was the Carrie Beckler he once knew.

"There's absolutely no resuscitating her." Katie said as Ian watched her smudged figure working from behind. "She looks like she's been dead for at least 45 minutes."

"Listen for a pulse. You won't be disappointed."

A moment passed as she searched for the unconscious figure's pulse. "Snagged by a raptor, I assume?"

"The tears and bites you see on the leg were made when the raptor was attempting to pull her out of a tree."

Katie shook her head. "She must have fought like hell."

"For a long time, too. There is evidence that she ran and climbed on it after the injury took place." Harding followed her as she began to collect an armful of gauze and what Ian assumed to be a bone saw.

"Damn." Katie whispered, dropping her pleasant tone altogether. "It looks like her fight isn't quite over yet. I just saw a bit of movement. Dr. Harding, I need you to talk her through this. Can you do that for me?"

The horrible procedure commenced. Dr. Harding knelt and began to whisper something to Carrie. Something that sounded to Ian like- "Uno is safe. I have him right here." This, of course, meant nothing to Ian, so he continued to watch. The saw was relatively quiet at first but once it worked through her flesh and into the surface of her bone, it could be heard even over the chopper's propeller. "Uno is safe." Harding confirmed once more. "I have him right here."

Carrie moved her head. Damp chunks of her short, dark hair clung to her colorless face. Much to his horror, Ian recognized it as the face of his ex-wife immediately. To make matters worse, she began to stir. Her eyes, sharp around the edges like a carefully cut stone, were just as dark and expressive as ever. In one moment, they seemed to glisten in a sort of euphoria and the next, they glazed over, their whites becoming an unsightly red as they burned with tears. She looked to the ceiling, shock taking over her entire anatomy.

"I'm sorry." Said Ian, unable to shake the feeling that he had done this to her. That he had condemned her to suffer when he took the last of the morphine. "I am so sorry."

…

When she awoke, Carrie found herself staring at a bright light suspended on a wire against the stark-white background of the ceiling. Equally white curtains surrounded her and from behind them, outlines of passing shadows could be seen. She felt cold and entirely alone. Her mind worked to fit the pieces together. She knew that she must have made her way to a medical facility. She remembered the incident at the park, the chase that led to her crashing the Jeep and climbing a nearby tree with Uno in her rucksack. Everything else, however, was a blur and rightfully so.

"Excuse me?" She beckoned to a shadow passing on the outside of the white curtain. "Discuple!?" She called a second time with volume, wagering that she must still be somewhere in South America. "Discuple? Donde estoy?"

After trying and failing several times to interact with any of the passing figures, Carrie made up her mind that she would explore the area. The moment that she repositioned herself on the bed, she found that she still felt dizzy and drugged- but she had to make an effort if she wanted to find out where she was and perhaps more importantly to Carrie in this moment, where Uno had ended up. .

Carrie inched towards the edge of the hospital "bed". The cot that rested atop the mechanism below was hard, uncomfortable, and truthfully far more like a flattened punching bag than something that might constitute as a mattress. She pulled back the sheets, making to hoist her legs over the edge and, assuming it didn't make her to dizzy, stand up and walk around.

Before she could move the sheets any further, the white curtain whipped open with ease and in stepped none other than Dr. Harding.

"Dr. Beckler." He gasped, dashing to her aid. "You need to stay put. Here, let me help you." Once she was situated, he breathed a small sigh of relief. She was still entirely unaware of the amputation and he wanted to keep it that way for just a while longer.

"The last thing that I remember," Carrie began, sweeping several strands of her dark hair behind her ear, "Uno and I were in the tree and… my leg had been…" she stopped, obviously struggling. Dr. Harding could do nothing but listen as her logical mind began to shuffle through the events. "I take it I'm no longer at the park?"

He sat on the edge of the cot, clasping his hands slightly. "Carrie, the park has been shut down. There was a…. a… power failure, the fences gave way and a lot of people were injured. Some were even killed. Now, I saw to it that you were taken to a facility that you were already familiar with. I know that you clashed with the staff here, but given the similarity to your injury and Dr. Zamora's…"

She relaxed slightly, looking through the small opening at the edge of the curtain. "This is where they took Amma?"

"Yes. And you can see her at any time."

Terrible memories of the gruesome injury that Dr. Zamora had obtained flooded Carrie's mind. She realized that the last time she was here, she'd truly accepted that her beautiful friend would never be the same again.

"I want to." Carrie said. "But I don't know if I'm ready yet."

"That's okay."

It terrified her, but Carrie knew what she had to ask next. "So, does this mean that I… that I'm going to end up like Amma?"

He sighed slightly, not wanting to be the one to tell her this. "Apparently you lost a lot of blood after the bite and the affected part of your body has been… treated."

He watched her face, almost glimpsing the way in which her mind was working. Her hand began to gravitate towards the leg that had been bitten. She touched the top of her thigh and worked her way down to the knee and when her hand slid into the vacant space, her expression told all.

"No." Carrie whispered to herself, flushing. "Oh, my God. Please… please, no." Tears began to form as she tore back the sheets, exposing her heavily bandaged stump of a leg. As she continued to plead, all of the chatter and footfalls from outside of the curtained room dissipated. She had the full attention of the ward at this point, but didn't care. All that she could feel was despair as she wept, grieving this shocking loss with all of her might.


	4. Support

At Carrie's request, Dr. Harding left her to sit in silence for a while. The curtain was still drawn around her and she felt very much in her own space, unattached to the world. She picked at the bandages below her knee, still trying to process that half of her leg had been taken from her. She'd read studies in the past about amputees who experience a condition called "phantom limb" in which the patient still feels as though the severed body part was still with them. Humans were, after all, her primary area of study, and Carrie was always intrigued by the way the mind reacts to trauma. But now that she was experiencing trauma first hand, it was anything but intriguing to her.

Every now and then, she would turn her eyes away from the amputation to look at the curtain in front of her. With her palm resting on her knee, she would focus her mind on waving her lost foot back and forth or wiggling each toe individually. Then, she would drop her eyes at the last moment only to realize that there was nothing there. A phantom limb, indeed. It was a rather grotesque game to play on her mind, but it seemed to help her accept things.

Her solitude carried on for several hours before it was interrupted by two visitors: her doctor and Katie, the woman who had performed the amputation on the helicopter. They started out cordially, by asking Carrie how her first day of recovery was going. To this, they received exactly the answer that they'd expected: lonely. Her doctor was an infectiously optimistic man. She remembered him from Amma's case and was happy that she could work with him instead of one of the more unpleasant physicians who doubted Amma would ever recover.

They discussed the physical therapy route that Carrie would undergo in the coming months and encouraged her interest in a prosthetic that would allow her to return to work. Goals were what she needed and it felt good to have some sort of direction in her life again.

The next day, Dr. Harding visited Carrie. The conversation with her doctor inspired her to ask more questions about work and Harding reluctantly awaited them:

"You told me the other day that the park was shut down." Carrie inquired, puncturing a juice box with a straw. "Do you know what is going to happen to all of our work?"

"I knew you were going to ask me that..." He assumed his position at the edge of the bed.

"You did read about the lysine contingency when you started working with Uno?"

She pushed the straw up and down with the edge of her fingernail. "So, they're all going to die? Just like that?" He nodded and she felt her chest swell with emotion. "That's heartbreaking."

"It is. One giant, heartbreaking bloodbath."

"I also remember hearing you say that we lost some people that day, too." She took a moment, wondering if she really wanted to know. "Would you mind telling me who?"

Dr. Harding straightened his back. "There was… Arnold… and there was Muldoon…"

"Goodness."

"I learned the other day that the man you were on the chopper with died in the hospital that they brought him to. I wonder if it would have turned out differently if they brought him here. But his wasn't a raptor bite."

Carrie took some time to meditate on this. "I don't remember anything about the chopper ride." Then, in the back of her mind, a memory began to stir. It was faint, as though much more time had passed between past and present than actually had. "Ian." She muttered, abandoning the juice box and raising her hand to her mouth. "Are you sure?"

"I'm only telling you what I've heard. But… yes I'm pretty sure." He looked on, taking in Carrie's reaction. "You two knew one another, didn't you?"

"I was married to him." Harding moved closer and Carrie looked up at him with the best 'I'm okay' face that she could manage. "But that was a very, very long time ago. He was a terrible husband. And I suppose, he would have been half correct if he argued that I was a terrible wife."

"I always suspected," said Harding with carefulness, "that you and Dr. Zamora had been an item."

Carrie was fighting to keep her face blank, but there was a hint of relief, joy even to hear him mention this. "We were." She admitted. "We still are."

"You should go see her." He said with a smile. "I've been meaning to ask if there are any family or friends that you want to reach out to during your recovery? I'd be happy to contact them for you."

"Well," Carrie thought aloud, "yes… but it's been so long. And they're so far away. I might come across as piteous or something."

"I know that you aren't much of a socialite, but speaking as your friend, a support system is necessary in times like these."

He was right, of course. In the days preceding her first physical therapy session, Carrie worked up the courage and strength to wheel herself to the floor where Amma was being held.

The room was exactly how she remembered it, sterile and bright. Poor Amma lay surrounded by heavy machinery that glittered beneath a stark pool of light. Her face was turned, giving Carrie full exposure of the burn-like wound that plagued her neck and upper torso. Although she was mostly covered with modest hospital gown, Carrie could see that her skin had turned an ashy grey color. Small appearances of blue and purple veins could be seen on her arms and legs.

"I'm happy that you decided to visit her today," said a Hispanic technician who Carrie did not recognize, "it's one of her quiet days…"

"I take it she's still having regular seizures?"

"Yes. But they are no longer triggered by movement or contact. You can hold her hand if you'd like."

Carrie pushed her wheelchair closer to Amma's bedside and obliged. The sensation was electrifying.

"Oh, my love." She whispered, touching the inside of Amma's hand where the surface was still smooth and recognizable. "I am only now beginning to understand what you have survived. You are so much stronger than me…"

The months passed in the facility and Carrie genuinely started to forget about her life at the park. She visited Amma regularly and grew inspired to continue her research after her release. But learning how to walk on the prosthetic was an exhausting and even disheartening task. To make matters worse, she was constantly being poked and prodded by her doctors while they searched her body for any remaining abnormalities or toxins in her bloodstream. When they finally confirmed that she would make a full recovery, Carrie was eager and willing to be released. She would return to the BriBri Village at the end of the month while continuing her physical therapy.

Several days before her scheduled release, something happened. Three people who she hadn't seen in a very long time paid her a visit. She was visiting Amma when they arrived and so, she ended up crossing them in the hallway on the way to her room.

"Well, there's a face I haven't seen in a while." Chimed the tallest of the three women in a lively Australian accent.

Carrie turned, her stride and balance were still a bit off. So, she had to do so slowly. But she recognized the voice as though it had been only yesterday when they'd last conversed. "You flew all the way here?!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Beckler!" The second-tallest undoubtedly Australian woman with a shock of wirey red hair said. "We were rock climbing in the area to begin with."

Carrie moved back and took them in. Although the two eldest of the women had already spoken their part, Carrie's eyes dropped and locked on the one who had yet to say anything to her.

"Hello." Carrie said, examining the brown-eyed girl with a grin. "You must be… Mikaela?"

"Don't mind our daughter. She isn't friendly." The sarcastic redheaded woman stated simply.

Carrie's focus didn't break- not one bit. How could she possibly? Mikaela was exactly how she remembered her. Delicate and petite with dark eyes full of curiosity and thought. She crossed her flannel-clad arms and rolled her eyes at Carrie.

"Your friend is weird, Moms." Mikaela blared and with a pout, she turned around and made for the waiting room where she stayed for the remainder of the reunion.

Carrie could only smile to herself. She was exactly like her father in every way imaginable. The ever-brooding and always right Ian Malcolm.


End file.
